Beth Norvell eBook

CHAPTER XVII

A COUNCIL OF WAR

In the magic of a moment a dozen angry men were pouring
from the shaft-house, their guns barking viciously
between their curses. Beyond, at the edge of
their dark cover, Hicks and Brown rose eagerly to
their knees, while their ready rifles spat swift return
fire, not all of it wasted. But Winston had
vanished in the green underbrush as completely as
though he had dropped into the sea. When he finally
emerged it was behind the protecting chaparral, his
clothing rags, his breathing the sobs of utter exhaustion.
Brown, the spell of battle upon him, never glanced
aside, his eyes along the brown rifle-barrel; but
Hicks sprang enthusiastically to his feet, uttering
a growl of hearty welcome.

“Damn it,” he exclaimed, his old eyes
twinkling with admiration, “but you ’re
a man!”

The engineer smiled, his hand pressed hard against
his side. “Maybe I am,” he gasped,
“but I ’m mighty near all in just now.
Say, that was a lively spin, and it’s got to
be an eat and a rest for me next.”

Hicks shaded his forehead, leaning on his rifle.

“Sometimes I reckon maybe I don’t see
quite as good as I used to,” he explained regretfully.
“Put five shots inter that measly bunch over
thar just now, an’ never saw even one o’
’em hop ’round like they got stung.
They look sorter misty-like ter me from here; say,
Stutter, what is a-happenin’ over thar now,
anyway?”

Brown wiped his face deliberately, sputtering fiercely
as he strove to get firm grip on his slow thought.

“So yer got ’em, hey?” he retorted,
savagely. “Oh, ye ’re chain-lightnin’,
yer are, Stutter. Ye ’re the ’riginal
Doctor Carver, yer long-legged, sputtering lunk-head.
Yer crow like a rooster thet ’s just found
its voice. Now, look yere; I reckon it’s
brain-work what’s got ter git us out o’
this yere hole, an’ I ’ll shore have ter
furnish most o’ that, fer yer ain ’t got
none ter spare, as ever I noticed. Shoot! hell,
yes, yer kin shoot all right, an’ make love ter
Greasers; but when thet’s over with, yer all
in. That’s when it’s up ter old
Bill Hicks ter do the thinkin’ act, and make
good. Lord! yer leave me plumb tired.”
The old man peered out across the vacant space toward
the apparently deserted dump, the anger slowly fading
away from his eyes. “I sorter imagine,
gents, it will take them fellers a while ter git over
ther sudden shock we ’ve given ’em,”
he continued. “Maybe we better take this
yere rest spell ter git somethin’ ter eat in,
and talk over how we ’re fixed fer when the
curtain goes up again. Them fellers never won’t
be happy till after they git another dose into their
systems, an’ thar ’s liable ter be some
considerable lead eat afore night. When they
does git braced up, an’ they reckon up all this
yere means, they ’ll shore be an ugly bunch.”